


Ally of Ruined Blades

by Sonder74



Category: Hunger Games - Fandom, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: 72nd Hunger Games, Arena (Hunger Games), District 2 (Hunger Games), Gen, Hunger Games Tributes, Hunger Games Victors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29867070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonder74/pseuds/Sonder74
Summary: The rebellion might have won under Katniss, but it truly began just a few years before, in the 72nd Games. When hope can be found in the darkest of places, when allies can be made from the most unlikely of people, that is when a revolution can start. Ally Magnus - Tomer Rhodes - Terra Quintus — Three names that changed the history of Panem. They might have not been the faces of the uprising, but they fought and bled and died for it all the same. This is their story. Let the Games begin. . .
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, Cato & Clove (Hunger Games), Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Collections: Hunger games





	1. Among the Ruins

In the fully silent arena, one cannon went off, a boom that echoed through a shattered, decimated city. The arena where already twenty-two lives has been lost. 

After the climax of the show, the final breathless moments of the games, two teenagers were left gasping for life among the ruins. 

Crimson poured from wounds, both new and old, that littered their broken bodies. Their uneven breaths slowed as their heartbeats stuttered to be the last one left alive.

Survival wasn’t glorious for them. It was merely the process of refusing to die. Their stubbornness to give up the thing they valued most: their life. 

They had been taken from teenagers — kids, really.

Some died in combat. Some died by deadly man-made natural disasters. While some others died by muttations, the last thing they saw a murderous beast descending upon them. 

Some died at the hand of so-called allies. Some died holding the hands of a newfound friend in their last minutes of life, holding onto the only comfort that could be offered to them in their last breaths. 

This was the story and these were the deaths that played out in front of all Panem, year after year after year, 

It was a celebration at the Capitol. The grand event after a year of monotonous gambling and luxury. The only thing to break up rather dull and meaningless lives.

To the Career Districts, this was where their children became champions. Victors. Glorious above everyone else as they stood high for their District to receive honor. 

But for every other District, it was another reminder of all they had lost. 

Children. Brothers. Sisters. 

The Games were created to remind that uprising was futile agains the Capitol. That Panem was united among all and no revolution could withstand the full force of its fury. 

But what it continued to be was a display of oppression, of death, of sorrow. Year after year after year. 

And as the Capitol tried to smother the flames popping up in isolated places, they missed the inferno gathering on the very fringes. 

Katniss was the one to ignite the nation. She was the one that lead Panem to liberation. 

However, on the surface, the 72nd Hunger Games seemed like another parade of pageantry and loss that set the stage for Miss Everdeen’s first steps to change. 

But that could not have been further from the truth, 

Revolutions are not built overnight. 

And neither are revolutionaries. 

The battle for survival had been arduous and seemingly endless. Tears had coated the rubble along with sweat and blood. Control of the game had shattered like feeble protection of glass. 

Loyalty and been forged through the hardest of circumstances. It occasionally cut like a double-edged sword. 

A duality that meant it sliced cut both ways. 

But, then again, that made tributes all the more vulnerable to this end. An end befitting of no one, but especially not these teenagers. 

What they sacrificed to be dying here was horrific and atrocious, yet people were eagerly anticipating who would be dead first.

The first pair of eyes turned glassy and the next stumbled shut.

Breaths hiccuped and halted.

One heartbeat stopped altogether. And a fraction later the next followed. 

The second canon went off.

“Please wait as the victor of the 72nd Hunger Games is decided!” An excited voice announced. It echoed and multiplied, overloud in the now completely silent space. 

Choppers entered the arena, talons outstretched like hawks to pick up their prey. Three bodies were lifted from the cornucopia in quick succession.  
Panem’s feed cut to the last few seconds of the games. Viewers scrambled and bet which of the last tributes had to be the one to make it out. 

Only one had to be left alive.  
\- -

Was this victory?

Maybe not yet. 

For many tributes, this is where their story ended.   
But for one, their story has just begun.   
Welcome to the 72nd Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor.


	2. I

You thought you could go free

But the system is done for 

\- Blood // Water grandson

Flipping the knife over and over in my palm, I glared at the aging mayor who droned on and on. He was prolonging the wait until the tributes were chosen. With each word that echoed from his mouth, he was delaying the inevitable reaping. The reason thousands of people were crammed into the center of District 2, waiting.

Two gigantic glass bowls glinted in the sun on either side of him. Hundreds upon hundreds of white slips of paper were piled atop one another until they filled to the brim. Small and crisp, they caught the sunlight and gleamed.

So many names had been carefully scribed on each and every one. My own was in the girls’ bowl six times.

Six chances to be picked.

All I needed was for my name to not be called. If that happened, I could volunteer and take my place among champions. My rightful place.

Terra leaned in, whispering. “You’d think, after seventy-one years of this, they would know how to hurry this up. We have history to make!”

I glanced over, amused.

It was odd to see her in a skirt, let alone with her golden hair down to soften all her edges. It almost drew away from the wicked and deep scar under her left eye. The only flaw on an otherwise perfect face. She fingered it when she was stressed.

It was telling she didn’t touch it now.

I focused my attention back to the stage, mentally willing the mayor to speak quicker. If anything, my mental urging made him all the more slower.

Throughout my life, I had been training for this one moment to prove myself. I could only qualify for one more year. If I reached 18 without being sent to the arena, my life would have been left to waste.

Technically, it wouldn’t have. I would continue on in the academy, training to be a peacekeeper since masonry was out of the question. Then, I’d be sent out to an outer district and work my way through the ranks until I was moved to the Capitol and live the rest of my years in comfort.

But where was the fun in that?

It would be decades if drills and orders and respect only to slowly waste away. I’d have to give up my hard-earned skills for a clumsy gun and spine permanently straightened.

I didn’t want to become like Romulus, a visiting Peacekeeper from 4. He was ruthless, unforgiving, and sadistic. I trained under him for a year and often came home bleeding from the stray whip cuts that my uniform didn’t catch the brunt of.

The knife flitted over my fingers even faster than I had been spinning it for the last hour.

All those hours of training and fighting and scrabbling for first in all my classes — for nothing. All the times I spent hours after class hitting targets and practicing against my instructors.

I couldn’t let all that work be for no reason.

This was my year.

I didn’t want to be a peacekeeper. I certainly didn’t want to become one of Dad’s underlings. No doubt, I would train under him for a few years after the academy then be sent to 11 or 12.

My dreams were much bigger than that sorry existence.

I shifted as the sun beat hard against my neck. A small drop of sweat meandered leisurely down my back and I resisted the urge to swat at it.

Other girls my age pressed against me on every side. We always gathered each and every year before the reaping, making small talk and faking being nice. But once a girl was chosen, we fought like wolves until the next time.

All of District 2 had been packed in the large square, shoulder to shoulder. Us trainees were waiting for the moment when the name would be picked and hundreds of us screamed to volunteer — to be chosen for the games.

The knife stilled mid-twirl. A feeling of elation shot through me like lighting followed by a slow wave of longer-lasting panic.

To be a victor, I actually had to win. I had to fight against other kids to make it out alive.

The thousands of people surrounding me, whether in the clearing or in the streets adjacent were near-silent, were hanging on every word. They were just as eager as we were for this event. It was the highlight of every year and the weeks following with the interviews and games led to much betting and celebration.

Here, it was a crime to not be invested. Bets were placed, profits were made. Boys and girls spent their free time in the streets reenacting the last epic confrontation. The District cheered when blood was spilt.

I shifted uncomfortably. Why had that never sat right with me? If anything, I was always revolted by it. When I saw a girl or boy collapse in mock agony, my gut twisted.

Shaking my head to clear those thoughts, I refocused on the event at hand.

The ginormous stage in front of me was full of people. From victors and other official members of the games, the most important of all people stood on the platform. As the Capitol’s darling, 2 always got the luxury of hosting such incredibly high-positioned officials.

From Mantra, the oldest living victor from 2 to Regime, the youngest, they piled onto the stage to display the fortitude of our District. As they should. 2 won the most games out of any district and they were not afraid to show it. They were all so elegantly clothed and regal.

My dress was the nicest one I owned, but the fabric was threadbare in comparison. The dense cotton was hot against my skin, making it all the harder to breathe. It was a dark blue and absorbed sunlight and made it even worse.

Behind the stage, on the Hall of Justice, the grand flag of the Capitol fluttered in the wind. Brilliant crimson and gold, it screamed of its magnificence.

I squinted and tilted my head, judging the distance between it and me. I could probably get my knife all the way across the square and right in the center. Sure, I would need more throwing room and my best knife, but I could do it.

But. . .

The trouble I would get into if I actually attempted that would ruin my family.

I would be taken from the crowd by peacekeepers and thrown into a drafty, cold cell and kept there until a public punishment could be arranged. The last insurrection at a reaping three or four years ago in 2 was never seen again.

Dad never spoke of that man. He only game home in one of his worst moods and refused to speak of the matter. He was as bothered as I’d ever seen him.

Of course, him being the head peacekeeper of District 2 made him especially considerate of order and loyalty. One toe out of line and he would bring down a sledgehammer. My wrists still sometimes ached from my last punishment as a child.

He stood just behind the mayor. Though the peacekeeper uniforms were exactly the same, I knew exactly where he was in the crowd. I could always tell.

His expression was obscured by the helmet. But from the tight way his shoulders were held, I knew he was hiding whatever emotions boiled inside him under an impassive expression.

Even under a mask, his face would be as still as stone.

One thing I definitely learned from him was being able to act however the situation needed me to, no matter how desperate my emotions were. I could act happy when sad, thoughtful when scattered, and hard when all I wanted to do was cry.

You desperately needed that skill if you wanted to survive in my household.

Tugging on my collar, I glanced back at the bowls. My urge to shove people aside and grab the first one I could was nearly overwhelming. If it wasn’t for this heat, maybe I could tolerate it better.

It was common knowledge that the mentors had sifted the promising and most competitive trainees’ names to the top. It was a usual practice for all the career districts, because they always needed to be competitive in the games.

They had a reputation to uphold.

Though I knew I was one of the tens of names there, I was hoping against all hope that I wasn’t chosen first. If you’re chosen, you can’t volunteer.

A girl with raven-black hair standing in front of me muttered. “Can we get on with it already?”

Terra dug an elbow in to keep me from saying anything. I rolled my eyes and shifted away.

Clove Kentwell.

We weren’t friends, not even close. However, she stayed close by to watch and learn everything I did with her fierce eyes. I didn’t have any classes with her, she always watched from the balcony of the training center as I threw knives. I never saw her pick up a blade, but I had a nagging suspicion she practiced at home.

In her mind, I was her biggest competition.

She was only fourteen yet so eager to be in the games. Even though she was younger than me, I knew she would be a strong contender for an upcoming games. Her quick thinking and brutality would aid her well.

From the rumors I heard, she was thinking of knives to be the primary weapon she trained in. Too bad I’d already staked my claim as the best knife thrower in the districts.

No one else was even close.

My fingernail found the edge of the blade and ghosted . Any closer and I’d leave a large cut across the pad of my thumb. But I’d left too many scars to make a mistake like that ever again.

Clove lacked dedication to knives. Her aim could learn be true and she could probably learn to hit target after target without fail. She could become an absolute menace with them.

But did she know the things I did about blades? Did she hear how they spoke? How they whispered to her how far they could fly? Or how much force would be needed to hit their mark?

Did they meld to her touch because the knives had become a part of her?

Even now, the blade spun around in my hand. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until I felt the gentle brush of razor against skin when I slightly lost focus. It felt so right to have the steel press warm against my palm.

No matter the blade, I understood it as it understood me.

Besides, people usually give a wide berth to a teenager continuously spinning a knife over her fingers. Except for the reaping, when people pressed against your every side no matter how much you glowered are them.

I shuffled against the people around me, desperately longing to get my personal space back.

Terra was the only one undaunted by my idiosyncrasy.

In many ways, she was my equal. And in many ways, my largest competitor. Though she was well-respected, she didn’t excel in the academy. She was average in most classes, preferring to continually stay in the middle of the pack. She was friendly enough and helped when needed. But other than that, she was silent.

The one thing she allowed herself to excel in was in defensive drills. She could easily sense the patterns and counteract against them. It was second nature to her.

That’s why I always wanted to be on her team when we ran through those particular lessons. She usually decided to be with me when we fought through everything else.

She was my friend and my colleague. I guarded her back and she guarded mine with a fierceness that I more than equaled.

The only one we fully trusted was one other, even if there was a sense of doubt sometimes about where our friendship might lead to.

Some people considered her my right-hand, but I never saw her that way. She was my catalyst. With her, I could be double the strength. With her against me, I would have to learn how to fight differently.

“And now for the tributes for the 72nd hunger games!” the mayor declared, finally stepping away from the podium.

Taking his place was a small man with outrageous features: stark-pink hair slicked back and too-round eyes. All of this was matched with a powder blue suit.

What was most nauseating about his outfit was his nauseating skin color. I would never understand Capitol fashion. It all seemed downright repulsive to me.

The crowd practically roared.

This was Ajax, escort to District 2 and everyone’s favorite personality behind Caesar. Compared to all the others, he was personable and friendly with enough enthusiasm to carry it off.

“Welcome, welcome!”

For such a small man, he had an awfully overloud voice.“It is the 72nd hunger games and in remembrance the Capitol has brought us a new, beautiful video to open the ceremony.”

People shushed each other. The gigantic screens next to the stage lit up with the Capitol’s symbol and he anthem began playing over a montage. It showed various moments from the last games and victory tour.

Another three minutes of torture passed as we waited and waited. I dug the hilt of the knife into my wrist impatiently.

Ajax seemed so excited he nearly toppled off stage. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a dainty handkerchief. The reruns always focused on his over-the-top reactions to the video and the reapings.

The stifling heat was starting to get to me, too. I wanted to pant and to swim in drown in freezing water. Or to have gusts of wind to go down my shirt. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

Finally, the promotion video came to a close and Ajax stepped back to the microphone.

“And may the odds be ever in your favor.” He savored the words with relish. “Ladies first!” he clapped and exclaimed, walking to the glass on the left.

I gripped the knife’s handle until my knuckles screamed in pain. Blood rushed to my head and I saw stars. The girls around me held their breath. We all prepared for this next competition, the last in a long line of the brutal fighting we had endured our whole lives.

This was our second to last shot and we didn’t want to miss it. 

Ajax reached a hand and swirled around until a particular one caught his eye. He plucked it from the surface and practically skipped to the microphone once more.

He unfolded it with a dopey smile on his face. Grinning down at it, he glanced at the crowd.

My knife stilled.

The world halted for an instant.

“Terra Quintus!” Ajax boomed.

\- -


	3. II

And when your fantasies 

Become your legacies

Promise me a place

In your house of memories

\- House of Memories Panic! At the Disco

“I volunteer!” I screamed as soon as the words exited his mouth. My voice rang out in the silent square echoing above the gathered crowd. “I volunteer as tribute!”

Terra pushed back, trying to fight it. “No!” she hissed in my ear. But she knew it was too late.

I winced. The one thing I couldn’t do for her was give up my right to be in the games. My dream was too precious to me to give up when I have this chance.

There was a large inhale around me. Usually there was a yelling match to claim the tribute spot, each girl fighting to win. Sometimes it could last for endless minutes.

Terra’s grip on my arm lessened as she realized no one else was fighting this. Her breath hiccuped as she stepped away. “Idiot,” she muttered.

I hoped I acted fast enough to get the spot. But, not too fast to have spoken out of turn. Those that are too fast usually get disqualified and removed.

The blade nearly cut into my hand for how hard I was clutching it. My breath was shallow from the adrenaline shooting through my system.

Ajax tilted his head, studying me from across the square. After a few moments, he said, “Well? Aren’t you going to come up here?”

Girls who had held their breath released them the same time I did. They realized they missed their chance the same moment I got mine. I won!

I tucked the knife away in my pocket as the cameras swept towards me. It was unusual to have it away but I couldn’t show off just yet.

Elation made me giddy and I nearly bounced to the aisle. The crowd parted to make a path to the stage. I concentrated to make my footsteps even, not too eager. Though, I couldn’t quite wipe the smile from the corners of my mouth.

When I reached the stage, Ajax held a hand out of me. I gripped it as I mounted the stairs, careful to not trip over my flats.

A waft of honeysuckle and orange floated towards me, just like the color of his skin. His gold adorned suit glinted as a ray of sunlight caught it.

Hundreds of faces stared back at me. A large portion of the girls glared furiously. Part of me wanted to throw a taunting smile towards the camera, but I resisted the urge.

Then I picked out Terra. Her finger was running over her scar repeatedly.

She had gone deathly pale, even in the flushing heat. I narrowed my eyes at her, silently asking her what was the matter. Terra shook her head and glanced away.

That hurt more than I wanted to admit.

“And your name, dear girl?” Ajax’s smile was encouraging, helping me overcome the nerves rising in my throat.

“Ally Magnus.”

I was pleased to hear my echoing voice steady and strong. I sounded ready with a trace of excitement. I sounded confident. Acting even though I didn’t feel a small bit of readiness.

Ajax grinned. “Ally — just like the allies you are about to make in the arena, no doubt!”

I allowed a small nod and smile in response.

What was expected was for me to align myself with other careers and intimidate everyone else. Between the six of us, we would eliminate everyone. All that was left to figure out the yet-to-be-named boy from my district.

As I pondered who he might be, Ajax skipped to the next bowl. He repeated the process as he did with the girls’.

My heart distantly pounded in my ears and I resisted the urge to pull out my knife to twiddle. I flicked my fingers by my side impatience.

Ajax leaned into the microphone. “Cato Hadley!”

That guy? I blinked in surprise.

He was a head shorter than me and had few muscles to spare. Why was he at the top? What did he posses that could make him one of the best picks?

He had potential to be a fighter one day, but certainly not now. In his classes, he was strong, but compared to people in my class and the one above, he was nothing. I could easily take him down.

Terra was scowling much like I wanted to. But I kept my face smooth for the camera.

I stilled those unhelpful thoughts, shifting my gaze to the boys section of the square. Cato already pushed forward. His broad face alight with pleasure to be chosen.

Apparently, he forgot about the others who could easily take his spot.

“I volunteer as tribute!” came from tens of male voices all at once.

Turmoil broke out as they jostled each other for the upper hand. There was a smack of flesh against flesh and a loud cry. Ajax did nothing to stop it. Instead, he looked awfully pleased with the spectacle to add to the replays later.

Finally, out of the exchange of fists, a strong boy with dark hair emerged. His right eye and cheek were reddening, quickly becoming a bruise.

“I volunteer!” His face lightened with a smile when he realized he’d won.

Ajax motioned him up with a nod.

The boy in question quickly bounded onto the stage. His hard muscles popped as he crossed arms over his chest. There was a deadly glint in his eye.

This had once my temporary friend, but my longest-standing semi-competitor for years. A lot of love and hate existed between us.

“And your name, son?”

“Orion Gallagher.” He cast me a smirk over Ajax’s shoulder.

I returned it.

When we were children, we promised each other we would go to the games and destroy one another. We usually said it jokingly back then. When we became competitors, we continued to say it, but actually meant it.

Now we were about to get the chance.

“Shake hands you two!” Ajax stepped back and we faced each other.

As we gripped each other’s hands, he leaned in and said, “You’re going down, Magnus.”

“Not if I get you first, Gallagher.”

Though the words were said in jest, I didn’t miss the undercurrent of truth in our words. He seemed to recognize it, too, as his jaw hardened.

My stomach plummeted deep into the ground. This was real. This wasn’t a daydream any more. We could both be dead in a manner of weeks.

For some reason, that had never occurred to me until just now. 

\- -


	4. III

The price of your greed  
Is your son and your daughter  
What you gon' do  
When there's blood in the water?  
Blood // Water - grandson

I squeezed his knuckles tightly. 

We let go and backed away. The crowd cheered our names loudly in a roar that nearly blasted us away. It was two words from a thousand voices into a clashing overloud clamor. 

Orion bowed and I soon followed his example, casting sunlight-bright smiles. On the monitors, I picked up my flushed face and shining eyes as I turned to head to my next destination. 

Peacekeepers ushered us off the stage and into the Hall of Justice. A cold blast of air hit my sweaty clothing, instantly cooling me. I turned ten degrees cooler from the air conditioning. 

Breathing in the crisp air, I marveled at the opulence around me. I only had been in here twice before. Once for father’s medal of valor, the second for last year’s victory tour. 

It took tons of pleading from me and many less-than-subtle hints to convince Dad to let me meet her. She had been brilliant in the arena with her strategy. Not to mention how incredible she was with her axes. 

I really wanted to see her up close, to ask her how she felt at the honor of being victor. 

When I went to congratulate her, she shook me off in an almost desperate movement, like she was scared of people touching her. We clashed gazes and when we did, something deeply struck me. 

There was something in her barren, anguished eyes that came back to me in quiet moments like these. A deep sorrow that echoed mine.

They led me down a long corridor to small room. The door was swiftly slammed behind me and I leaned against it to catch my breath. I puffed my cheeks out and relished in the cool air pouring down my shirt. 

The room was large with cherry wood walls and fluffy bright rugs spread across the floor. I gazed at the plush furniture and artwork too beautiful to be real. 

I stepped towards one, fishing the knife from my pocket.  
I began spinning it over my fingers as I studied the sweeping mountain views and thick forests. A longing filled my heart more strongly than I ever felt before.

The door creaked open. Mom and Dad were pushed in and it was slammed shut again. Refusing to look at them for a moment to gather my emotions, I glanced back at the painting.

The sun in the painting splashed across sparkling waves and across mountain ridges. Though fake, I could still feel it’s warmth on my cheeks. 

“Ally,” Mom said softly.

Bowing my head, I nodded. I knew it was time to say goodbye. 

Mom was still in her finest dress, her bun now in wisps.  
Dad, of course, was in uniform. His helmet was now off and held under arm. Like I surmised in the square, his face was devoid of any emotion at all. Even his eyes were dead. 

I walked up to them, startled to see Mom’s eyes shiny.  
Her arms encircled me and she held me coldly. I tucked the knife away from her as I returned the embrace warmer than she did. It was almost like hugging a statue. 

She squeezed for a moment before stepping back. “I’m proud of you. You’re going to do so well.”

I opened my mouth to say, Mom, I’m scared. So, so scared. I longed to tell her my thoughts, but I realized my expression was one of excitement and apprehension. 

I hadn’t appeared frightened at all. In fact, I must have appeared confident. None of my emotions must have shown.

Huh, I was really that good at faking it.

That could become my biggest weapon if I used it well. I  
could act however I wished and no one would question it because they thought it was real. How long had I been doing this?

“Thanks, Mom,” I eventually said. Even to me that sounded weak. “For everything.”

She ran her eyes over my face, memorizing everything about me. I did the same, taking in her shallow face and wrinkles that didn’t belong on a face so young. They creased deeply when I exited the embrace. 

Backing away hesitantly, she let Dad in her place. He was  
still in his uniform, his helmet tucked under an arm.  
Sweat glistened on his brow from being in the stifling material for hours, his freckles nearly gleaming. 

Wordlessly, held out a gloved hand. 

Dropping my chin, I placed the knife in his hand like a child caught red handed. I didn’t try to act innocent, but  
I wasn’t going to be apologetic about it, either. 

Instantly, I felt stripped bare without it. My fingers were empty and grasped at nothing. Yet, I still flicked them as if I was steadily moving the knife. 

He jolted my shoulders to get me to refocus on him.  
“Whatever you do, don’t anger the gamemakers,” he said, peering into my eyes — the same blue-grey as his. 

“Stay strong in training and have a personality in the interview that they’ll remember in the games. No matter what you chose, people need to look forward to your performance. Go with your ability to think on your feet, how you never give up fighting. Play up that.”

I nodded to each part of his advice. It all made perfect sense. I’d watched enough of the games over the years to see how all of these could make or break a tribute. 

After years of watching the games, Dad knew the strategies of the events. He had trained a class in the academy and one of his students went on to win. He knew what he was talking about. 

I needed to focus on getting sponsors; leaving my mark in the interviews; and fighting for my spot in the arena.  
By doing that, I could get the audience to be cheering for  
me, hoping for my survival. 

“Any survival tips?” I asked.

He paused a moment before speaking. “Find a strong ally and stick with them for as far as you can into the games. You need someone to watch your back if you want to survive to the end. 

“If they protect you, protect them. If they turn your back on you, stick a knife in between their ribs.”

I didn’t comment. The words took a few moments to sink in. 

There was an undercurrent to his words that made me turn his words over and over to try to understand what he was truly getting at. 

He said ally, not allies, which went completely opposite of everything we were taught in the academy. 

We were relentlessly told, that if we were in the games, we stayed with the career pack and eliminated everyone else. And then the pack was all that was left. 

From there, alliances were dropped and it was all about staying alive. It sounded much cleaner than the real life struggle and blood and sweat that the last moments of the games creates.

Dad was telling me to do the exact opposite. To make my own ally. To choose my own path away from what was expected of me. To not do what everyone had told me to do.

But why?

I nodded, more to myself than anything else, and turned back to Mom.

She held something out to me. It took me a moment to realize it was a ring: a simple silver band with flourishes and swirls on the side. 

“Your token.” She answered my silent question. 

I gently took it and rubbed my thumb over the puckered sides. The ring was flawless compared to my hands covered in hundreds of small nicks and scars. 

“I wore this to every reaping. I hope it brings you the same luck I received.” 

Tilting my head, I worked it onto my right ring finger. It felt solid and strong against my skin. It might throw off my aim by a half-inch, but I was ambidextrous. 

I wasn’t going to take it off by any means — it was the last bit of home I could hold.

“Thanks, Mom.” I was surprised to hear my voice sounding strong, almost on the verge of ungrateful. I didn’t mean to be, but it slipped out unintentionally. 

A peacekeeper poked his head in and nodded to Dad. It was a cold gesture but it said so much. My parents turned away from me and walked to the door in perfect tandem. 

“I love you,” I blurted out. 

They froze and turned to me slowly. All the blood drained  
from their faces leaving them pale and frozen. 

That was the first time I ever told them that I loved them. The first time anyone in my family said the ‘L’ word at all. The first time we showed anything other than cold acceptance of the others’ existence. 

Before they could say a word, they were shoved out of the room and the door slammed shut. The silence of her words echoed more loudly that the door. 

Biting the inside of my cheek, I bit until blood bloomed on my tongue. I felt restless in a way I never had before.  
My heartbeat raced a mile a minute. 

My feet wanted to run, to sprint out of these walls to get back home. To slam open the door and demand my parents to tell me what I most wanted to hear. 

They never told me they loved me back. 

I paced away, folding my arms protectively across my  
chest. I needed to comfort myself somehow. That may have been their last opportunity to say they were proud of me. 

My head was spinning as I tried to grapple with the fact that they simply expected me to survive. They expected me to survive so they could say it after the games.

If they said it at all.

But what was I expecting? 

Everything in my life was implied. It was never spoken out loud, but I was told to excel in my classes, make my mark. Neither of my parents told me to volunteer for the games. 

Yet, I did anyways. Only because it was expected of me.  
Only because of my dreams beyond the academy.

My fingers dug into my elbows as I waited for my next visitor. I wanted to twirl a knife so badly. Pacing seemed too uncomfortable. Flicking a blade seemed natural and right, not walking endlessly. 

The door squeaked open and Terra stumbled in, scowling at the peacekeeper who shoved her. It was a frown that quickly smoothed when she caught sight of me.

Her lips quirked. “I guess I should be saying thanks for taking my place, but if it wasn’t you, it’d be someone else.” 

“Thank you for stating the obvious.”

We shared a brief smile before she walked a couple steps  
to wrap me in a hug. It was colder than my parents, but it felt so much more comforting. 

I clung to her briefly and stepped away. 

Terra’s cold eyes flicked over my face. “If anything, I should be pitying you. You’re probably going to die and if it wasn’t you volunteering, it would be someone else just as crazy.” 

I frowned. “You never wanted to go.” I never knew that. 

Everyone I knew wanted to go to the games, to prove themselves. Sure, being a peacekeeper was a good alternative, but to win or die gloriously? No question. 

“Of course not.” She crossed her arms and shrugged. “I’d be insane if I wanted to go into the arena. You know I would die anyway. I’m not going to kill someone, never when they’re innocent of crime. My mind works better for figuring out things.”

That was true. Fighting wasn’t necessarily her gift. In the academy, she always chose a shield before sword.  
Defense always against offense. 

“Then why did you fight back when I called my name?”

“I don’t want to have to watch my best friend die.” 

I blinked, trying to take that in as she glanced away. Admitting feelings wasn’t exactly her forte. She always kept them clamped down and maintained her calm exterior.

“You’re insane for volunteering, Ally, but you’ll be ruthless enough to win.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment. Her biting tone wasn’t exactly kind. Ruthless. I had never liked that word, not a bit.

“Do you have a strategy for the arena?” she said, moving from the topic. 

Again, I nodded. 

I was going to do what was expected of me. Orion would be a loyal ally until the end and I needed that stability early on in the games. Whatever other allies were reaped, I knew I could depend on him. 

“Good. Of course I already have already built one up from the moment you leave the station, but I’d hate to be redundant. It would take too much time, anyways.”

Terra cocked an eyebrow as she stepped closer. 

“You’re a good actress, I’ve always known it. You have a face that can completely beguile anyone to believe you are feeling that emotion you want to convey. Even your eyes carry it off.”

Frowning, I studied her. “Then what gives me away to you?”

She shrugged as the peacekeeper entered. “It’s always been a feeling.” 

He grabbed her by the upper arm and ushered her out against her protests. The door slammed shut, cutting off any further contact. 

I opened my mouth to ask what that meant, but she was gone before I could even summon the question. I was left alone and uncertain, rolling her last words around my tongue. 

A feeling.

What did that have to do with anything? 

I walked across the floor in slow circles. I hated myself for doing it, but I couldn’t help it without my knife. 

Though I was outwardly calm, there was a storm of panic inside that I couldn’t suppress. It writhed in my stomach, turning my small breakfast to acid. It sloshed against the sides of my abdomen uncomfortably. 

I put a hand against my ribs to drill it.

The door opened once more and a peacekeeper motioned for me to exit. I paused as I started at his faceless helmet, wondering if he felt any sense of pity for me. 

If he would even care if I made it out.

With a breath, I nodded and followed him out to my destiny.

Or to my death.  
\- -


	5. IV

The train bolted out of 2’s station and towards the Capitol, covering ground at a breakneck pace. We were speeding faster than a bullet. The horizon changed drastically from the grey epicenter of 2 to wide open spaces and blue skies. 

There were some connecting roads to the mines and outlying towns, but it was mostly empty. I always pitied the people who didn’t live in the city, but now I was beginning to envy them. 

Rolling planes of grass spread out on either side, hundreds of millions of blades whisking in the wind. At our passing, they practically crashed into one another.   
From a distance, snow-peaked mountains were steadily getting closer. 

I had never traveled this fast before. I found myself constantly mesmerized by the way we were flying. Even in my dreams this kind of speed was impossible, even when I was throwing knives, I never dreamed this would happen to me. 

The train car was opulent and silvery. Sunlight reflected from everything and scattered across the cabin. There was a small sitting area to my right for four and a door that led to the mentors, no doubt. 

I sat at a large table filled with all kinds of delicacies piled atop it. My tongue swelled with the sugar from the dessert I gobbled minutes before. I leaned back in my chair and breathed through my overstuffed stomach.

The food was delightful, but I had enough common sense to remember to fill myself with protein and carbs. I needed to put on some weight and for stamina and staying power. 

The sugar was the only treat I allowed myself. And it was so worth it. 

Everything around me screamed of affluence, more than I could ever have ever thought possible. It felt disquieting and empowering all at the same time. 

Avoxes stood by the door, ready and waiting to obey any needs we might have. They wore their uniforms and kept eyes respectfully lowered. Something about their continual presence didn’t sit right with me. 

I turned my attention back to the mountains getting ever closer. Within an hour, we would arrive at the tribute center.

And then, whether I walked out of that arena or not, the last weeks of my life would begin. Part of me was going to die in there, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make if it meant I could live the rest of my life the way I wanted.

To be free of the academy, with nothing but my knives to keep me company. 

The awkward butter knife I was currently twirling was nothing compared to my sleek, aerodynamic blades at home. But, a habit was hard to break. The knife smoothly danced over my fingers. It had been awkward at first, the metal clumsy. 

I watched Orion pace the length of the car. His brow was furrowed, hands clasped tightly behind his back. He moved back and forth, back and forth. Over and over again.

This is why I didn’t like pacing. It was so unproductive and made my nervous. 

“Why haven’t our mentors come?” he finally exclaimed.   
Our heavy silence sharply broken by his tone. “Shouldn’t we be discussing strategy now? The survival of our li—district is on the line!” 

It wasn’t hard to miss how he stuttered over district. I could tell he wanted to say ‘our lives’ but he didn’t. He was too much of a career at his core to do such a thing.   
The academy had drilled any selfishness over our district out of us immediately. 

“Maybe they’re waiting until we’re in our apartment.”

“But why? We won’t get to our rooms until late tonight.” He tore hands through his dark, perfect curls. “The chariot ride is today. We need help to make the right impression for the rest of the games.” 

“We’re from 2. What more of an impression can we make besides looking intimidating?”

“And spinning a knife,” Orion commented wryly. 

A small olive branch in the way of becoming allies. Compared to the other things he called me in the past, it was a tiny step way to get into good terms.

I gave a ghost of a smile as I flickered my gaze over to the screen where the day’s reapings were playing. 

Currently, 1’s was running. 

Already, an elegantly dressed girl had taken her place and the boys were were jockeying for the second tribute position. It was a much similar scene to our own afternoon. 

Supposedly, the Capitol was watching them all live, back-to-back in a staggered schedule. Otherwise, we’d have to watch the reruns after the tribute parade. 

We could only see what was live after our own district tributes were away and we could get home. Or, in my   
case now, on the train to discover my fate. 

The chosen boy struggled to the stage out of the mire of the crowd and strutted confidently to the microphone, introducing himself as Gold. 

Orion and I both snorted at the name. 

1’s habit of naming themselves after luxury items was truly disgusting. They were flippant names that sounded more like a thing than a person.

They wouldn’t last a second in 2. 

Sure, they were trained for the arena in their own way, but 2s had a habit of being more hard-worn than any of them. Our training was more focused on being able to take a beating and get back up. 

1s just kind of stayed down unless they outsmarted the competition. It was displayed over and over agains tin each games. The victors always made it out by killing intelligently and doing it well. 

And how was anyone supposed to take them seriously with a name like Gloss? Or Cashmere? I smirked just thinking about it. 

The feed fizzled, replacing the glitz and glamor of 1 with the dense forest of 7. 

Hundreds of lumberjacks waited for the names to be called and the opportunity to go home. Dirt smudged most their faces and uniforms; those that wore overalls had their straps loose and arms crossed. 

They stared blankly, almost angrily, at the escort on the stage who tried desperately to get a reaction from them. This was nothing compared to Ajax’s welcome. 

I studied the faces of the teenagers as the cameras panned over them. Two of them would be my competitors. A few, I guessed, could take me out in unarmed physicality. They had toned muscles after so many years working in trees.

The escort floundered onstage about the Capitol’s grand plan for the games, but all that stared back at him were empty faces. Tired and resigned to the fact they would be losing a son and daughter. Parents were clearly terrified.

Orion paid no attention to the screen, still brooding over the fact that the mentors hadn’t come to meet us yet. It was amusing he was so fixated on that and not what might actually help us. 

Finally, the first name was fished out and read. 

The cameras focused on a girl with a pale face and wide, wide eyes. She shakily made her way up the stairs. All color drained from her face as she desperately tried to keep tears from running down her face. 

It had always been so strange to me that no one ever volunteered to take anyone’s place in the outlying districts. 

Everyone resignedly watched as she was taken from them. The only ones who wanted to do something, the grownups, were stuck on the sidelines. 

They were just as helpless as the girl herself. 

No kid would want to volunteer. It would mean death for them. Even if their friend was taken from them, they wouldn’t be willing to give their life for her. 

Back in the crowd, a middle-aged woman collapsed in the arms of a much younger man in grief. That was her daughter, then. She sobbed openly, loud enough for the cameras to pick it up. 

My heart winced. 

The tribute and the mother looked nearly the same. 

She thin little thing. Pretty enough, but no older than thirteen. There was a bulge of lean, harden muscle in her arms. She was underfed, it was clear in her cheeks. 

I frowned briefly at myself. I dissected her appearance by how much of a match she would be against me. Though it took less than a heartbeat, it was second nature to me now. 

Biting the inside of my cheek, I tried to harden my heart against her pitiful chance. She wouldn’t last a second and I couldn’t be there to help her. 

But my eyes couldn’t move away from her mother and older brother. Tears streamed down both their faces. They were losing a daughter and they knew it. 

Orion snatched an apple from the table and munched on it, turning his attention to the feed. “That’s in 7?”

“Yes.”

“She’ll be easy prey.” He grinned like a cat with a mouse between its paws. Deadly and focused. 

For some reason, I didn’t feel the same way. 

His expression sickened me. I faked the smile back, but I couldn’t get over the fact that the girl from 7 was a kid. I may have lost my innocence in the academy, but she hadn’t. She deserved a few more years in this world. 

My teeth gnawed into the inside of my cheek as the boy’s name was fished out and read. There was a hitched silence in the moment before it was said. 

“Tallon Rhodes!” 

The crowd glanced around for him. 

They eventually settled on a boy with bright red hair neatly combed to the side. Tallon’s chin hit his chest as the weight of the event settled on his shoulders. Finally, he glanced up and nodded. 

Next to him, there was someone who looked exactly like the summoned tribute. A twin. His auburn hair was scattered across his eyes as he tried to shove his brother back

“No!” He cried loud enough for the cameras to pick up. “No, I won’t let you go!”

As Tallon walked to the aisle with resigned dread in his face, a limp was noticeable along with a hand nearly ruined from an injury. Blood seeped from a bandage coiled around his arm.

There was no way he’d survive a minute. No wonder his brother was giving such trouble. 

The twin yanked him back in line, causing the first to stumble. Tallon shoved away, trying to make it to the front but his twin wouldn’t let him. 

The cameras couldn’t pick up their tense, heated discussion that followed. Both their faces were creased in angry determination as they pushed against one another in stubbornness. 

There was a slight tussle as the boys tried to make it to the stage first. The new twin refused to give ground, everything about him screaming resolution in his fight to protect his twin. 

He knew what he was about to be sacrificing. But, he was going to do it anyways if it meant saving his brother. 

The knife stilled in between two fingers as my interest was captured by this new variable in the game. This was very interesting. I might be able to use this later. 

Finally, after enough of a fight, the new twin turned around and yelled to the escort, “I volunteer as tribute!”

“No!” now Tallon was the one fighting back, but his twin shook him off with an angry jerk. 

“I volunteer as tribute and you can’t stop me.” 

The cameras focused in on this new contender. His jaw was clenched as he walked evenly towards his doom. Other than that, there was no other outward sign of his fury.

Wind silently brushed through the forest around them. There wasn’t even a bird’s chirp. Everything was quiet. 

People bowed their heads as he passed, unwilling to look at the boy who just gave up his life for his brother. They knew what he was going to be sacrificing. 

What kind of pure love would move someone to do this?

Certainly a love that was absent from District 2. 

He stood on the stage, his head lowered as he glared at his boots. When prompted for his name, he answered dully, “Tomer Rhodes.”

“And that was your brother, no doubt! You look just alike!” The escort said, beaming at the cameras. “Now let’s give a warm goodbye to your tributes!”

There was a slow, unenthusiastic clap from the crowd. 

Tallon was still standing in the aisle, despair unlike anything I’d ever seen written in every line of his body. Eyes dark and hopeless. He seemed like the most important thing to him had been ripped away. 

The feed zoomed in on Tomer, who didn’t attempt to hide his anger. When he glanced up at the cameras, his bangs fell in his eyes as he glared at them. I could feel the simmering rage through the screen.

They were led into the Hall of Justice. The door slammed behind them and it echoed across the voiceless crowd.   
Tears pooled in many eyes. 

The left-behind twin fell to one knee and wept. 

The feed cut to black for a moment as it switched to the next district. Orion noticed my enrapture by the events and watched through slitted eyes. 

“He’ll be a strong competitor, for sure,” I commented, the knife resuming its path across my fingers. The metal was warm after all my work on it. 

Good thing I did, because his expression eased.

Orion nodded. “Him volunteering is a death sentence for him, you know that. He’s from the outer districts, he won’t stand a chance. Not against us.”

I didn’t answer. I saw Tomer’s dark eyes. 

There was a fighting fire that wouldn’t be extinguished just from being resigned to the games. He would fight to return home. He wouldn’t be giving up. He had people to go back to. 

Besides, he was tall and strong. He was good looking and had plenty of opportunities to get sponsors. A face like that could beguile the whole Capitol. 

The train’s door whisked open and Ajax bounced in, a large smile plastered across his face. Now, close up, it was possible to see the strain at the edges of his face, like a sheet pulled to tightly over a bed. 

If anything, he appeared to be a Caesar Flickerman wannabe. He was trying to hard and it was clearly evident that he was. His smile was too much. His hair was too much. Now that we were in an enclosed space, his perfume was too much. 

It was all I could taste, even.

Orion cast me a glance to see if I felt just as nauseous at the overwhelming scent of honeysuckle. I slightly blew out my cheeks in answer. 

“Hello, Ajax,” I said, fixing a smile on my face. “How goes it?”

“We’re nearly to the Capitol, tributes. Be prepared to be amazing and wow everyone. I have high, high hopes for you!”

Orion and I slid our eyes towards each other. Was this guy serious? He seemed a lot different on stage, where his extravagance and enthusiasm were well-placed. Now, he tried too hard for an unimpressed crowd. 

I stepped up as the diplomat of us two and inclined my head gratefully. “Thank you. We hope to honor our district and the Capitol by succeeding in the games.”

Ajax smiled at my words, but he acted somewhat like a skittish hare. His eyes constantly darting to the knife working its way across my fingers. 

A slow, sly grin grew across my face as I realized what he was focusing on. I made him nervous. I relished in that feeling for a moment, savoring it. 

Orion drew attention away from me when he asked,   
“Where are our mentors? I hoped to talk with them before the Chariot ride.”

“Oh, they never speak with the tributes until after the parade. Their directions are to stuff yourselves as much as possible and enjoy the knowledge that you’ve made it. Anything more than that you’ll have to speak with them this evening.”

Orion scowled, folding his arms over his chest. He didn’t tell like it, not at all. Usually when i saw him looking like that, I tucked my tail and ran. 

Ajax gave a placating expression while holding out his hands. “I’m going to need your tokens so that they can be cleared for the arena.”

Hesitantly, I worked the ring off my finger, holding it out to him. Ajax plucked it from my hands before turning expectantly to Orion.

He shrugged and said, “I don’t have a token.” The smallest dip in his shoulders told me he was telling the truth.

I raised an eyebrow, surprised that the most popular guy in the academy didn’t get a token. Dedicated parents, people who loved him, he should have had something. 

He’d even had a girlfriend or two who might have been brought in to see him. And not a thing from all those people?

Orion slid his gaze over to me and smirked. My forehead creased as I stared back at him, wondering what that meant. I pursued my head, silently asking him what he meant.

With one last fake smile, Ajax turned on his heel and whisked out of the room. The door slid shut and silence reigned over the cabin. Especially awkward silence between Orion and I.

After a beat to gather my thoughts, I said, “What as that for? Are you trying to sneak something into the games? You do realize that’s never going to work.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “maybe not.”  
He wasn’t going to tell me a thing, only try to drive me crazy as I tried to figure him out. 

Rolling my eyes, my gaze caught on the reaping from 5. 

The large power plant behind the Hall of Justice towered over the stage, dwarfing the men and women waiting for the reaping to be over. Everything was grey and metallic there. 

At least in 2, we had a tree here or there. This was all hums and chugs as power was generated. 

Orion became as tense as a taut bowstring, scowling mightily. I couldn’t figure out what he was so worried about. 

For the rest of the day, all be had to do was smile and wave and be pleasant. The chariot was the only time we had to be nice to people. 

He must have picked up on my curiosity, because he said, “We need to figure out who our allies are. That’s why I’m so worried. Our mentors could let us know who to trust instead of fumbling blindly around. We could talk with them before and after the parade.”

“From what we’ve seen,” I said, “we band with 1 and see who 4 is. We display our dominance in training and be memorable in the interview. What strategy do we need other than that?”

“We need other allies than the career pack. Underlings that we promise to keep alive if they do what we say.”

I mulled over his point, but quickly came up with a counter. “We can’t exactly rely on that. Remember Johanna from last year? She acted like a sniveling idiot for most of the games by serving the careers. And what do you know? She’s a ruthless killer.”

Apparently I brought up a point he hadn’t considered yet, because he began chewing his lip and muttering angrily.   
He always did that when something was thrown in to mess up his set-in-stone plan.

The one thing he was never good at was adapting. 

Unconcerned with his troubles, I used the knife’s edge to pick under my nail. My eyes still riveted to the feed.  
\- -


End file.
